Episode 6x1: From Scratch
by ViciousVixen
Summary: Spike and Gunn evade Wolfram & Hart's legions, with no leader and no plan. Despite their best efforts, they will be found. COMPLETE - Continued in Episode 6x2.
1. Reacquainted

Title: Episode 1--From Scratch  
Author: ViciousVixen  
Category: Drama, Angst  
Distribution: Please put a note, including email address, into my review section if you would like to post this story elsewhere.  
Rating: PG-13, but bordering on R (for graphic scenes)  
'Ship: None  
Timeframe: Several months after the battle with the Senior Partners  
Summary: Spike and Gunn evade Wolfram & Hart's legions. With no leader and no plan--despite their best efforts, they will be found.  
Author's Note: I don't like to kill off characters (especially the star of the show), but I don't like to bring back characters that Joss killed in the first place. That is all.  
Disclaimer: I don't own these wonderful characters, and I certainly don't get paid for them. I wish I did, but I don't. Lucky for them--Joss & Co. are nicer to them than I would be...

--

The echoes of boots briskly hitting the pavement disturbed the silence of the near-barren street. Cupping his arms around his waist, Spike tried to keep the delivery from falling through his jacket and pulled the leather coat tightly around him. Sharp clicks mimicked Spike's heavy steps, almost well enough to conceal, but his vampire hearing instantly recognized the uneven sound. Time working against him, Spike turned down an even more deserted alley and lighted his pace a touch.

The slight-paranoia state of Spike's senses refused to fail him when he felt a disturbance in the air. Suddenly halting, he slid to his left as a leg flew at his face from inside the shadows beside him. As the leg came down, a vampire landed into view and took a lumbering swing at Spike. The punch was easily avoided with a retreating lean, but the sweeping kick to follow was a little more difficult to dodge. Righting himself, Spike simultaneously jumped over a second vampire's leg, giving the sweep just enough room to jet through the air beneath his feet.

Still a little shocked from the sudden attack, Spike took a step back to steady his balance and reaffirm his grip on his flimsy container. He re-rolled the top of the paper bag as he took it from inside his jacket and carefully wrapped his hand over the fold, effectively sealing it shut.

His first attacker smirked as he sauntered forward. "Where're you running to Spike? Nothing's so important that you can't stop for a sec and talk with your fellow vamps."

Time ticked away.

"Don't need any trouble from the trolls—just tryin' to get by."

Curiosity glimmered in the other vampire's eye. "What's in the bag?"

"Nothin' for you."

"Well, if you wanna avoid trouble, maybe you should show us anyway."

_I don't have time for this._ Spike held the bag out, baiting the duo. "Come 'ere then. Just a peek, now."

Satisfied with their momentary victory, the vamps walked over and reached for their concealed prize. Spike quickly ceased the opportunity and, throwing the bag in the air, activated Angel's wrist-stakes, disposing of both vamps just in time to catch the bag.

_Said I didn't need any trouble._

Spotting a nearby manhole, Spike tucked the bag under his coat once again and dropped into the sewer. Behind him, he didn't notice the click of women's heels resume once again. A woman dressed in a black skirt-suit and pumps strayed along the shadow at the entrance to the alley. She stopped as she reached a patch of moonlight, separating her from Spike's sewer exit, and the clipboard she held became visible in the moon's soft glow.

Drawing it away from her torso, she brought a pen up to her list—a few words already written in loop-filled feminine handwriting:

_Weapons—Angelus's wrist-stakes used by Spike, crossbows and axes primarily used_

_Vehicle—Plymouth GTX (Angelus's)_

_Apartments—Spike's Wolfram & Hart flat hidden in plain sight_

_Sewer Access_

Lifting her pen, the woman lightly penned a dash next to "sewer access", preceding a new word: "Available". With a smirk, she slid the pen into the gap at the top of the clipboard and strolled away.

--

Wasting no time, Spike emerged from the sewers a few minutes later, climbing up through a grate into the underground parking garage of St. Matthew's Hospital. The orange-yellow of an elevator light guided Spike toward it as a _ding_ sounded and the doors quietly slid open.

People flooded out of the small compartment, and Spike entered, pressing the button for the fourth floor. He continued to dwell on the happy family he watched moments before as they exited the elevator.

A glowing mother hummed a full deep tone as she glided her newborn girl in the brand new stroller. Spike easily distinguished the fresh musky scent of the child.

He could almost see his soulless-self, just as the family was stepping off of the elevator. He would have said something to the mother. _Cute kid ya got there._ She would have shyly smiled in kind and turned to walk away. And that's when he would have grabbed the baby. He would have stood and smiled as she screamed and the doors closed. He could hear her terror, feel her fear, as he gazed into the child's barely seeing eyes. The same eyes stretched in awe and wonder as Spike switched from his human guise to his vampire visage. So warm; blood ran so near the surface. The child's heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his fangs elongated as he opened his jaw and stretched it around the baby's neck and shoulders.

_Ding!_

The elevator doors opened, revealing the fourth floor and Spike's stop. Almost forgetting his task, Spike felt of the bag, to which he continued to cling, and put his arm out to stop the doors from shutting once again.

Picking up a lighter gait, Spike exited and unconsciously walked the familiar path to the nurse's station. A young lady looked up as he approached the countertop, and she smiled.

"Hey Spike. Here to check on Charles?"

The candy striper uniform she wore was always enough to make Spike chuckle, and he stifled his laughter for Gunn's sake.

"Just wanted to see how the lazy sod is gettin' on."

She rolled her eyes with a smile and continued to sort the paper work on her desk. "'Lazy.' Well that's the understatement of the century. Seems like he's having the nurses do _everything_ for him."

"Well, that pee tube thing can't be comfortable," he replied with a sly wink. She giggled in reply. "I'll make it a quick visit, cutie. Promise."

Giving in to Spike's subtle flirtation, she waved him away, "Fine. You've got fifteen minutes—but that's it."

"Don't worry, luv. Won't be long."

A moment later, Spike reached Gunn's room and lightly rapped on the door.

A hushed voice replied from within. "Who's there?"

"The tooth fairy."

"Funny. You got the stuff?"

"I said I'd bring it."

Taking the bag out, Spike opened the door and stepped inside. Gunn sat eagerly, nearly to the point of wringing his hands. Teasing him, Spike held the bag in front of his bed-confined friend and quickly snatched it away again.

"Hey! Not cool."

Spike grinned and tossed the bag at him. Easily catching it, Gunn didn't bother unrolling the top of the bag but excitedly ripped it open instead.

Huffing with annoyance, Spike slumped into a nearby chair. "I can't believe I risked my neck for fried chicken."

Gunn carefully removed the three small drumsticks and arranged them onto his bed tray.

"The greater good, Spike. The greater good."

--

A nightmare woke Connor from his light sleep. The return of his memories often brought more terror than comfort in the past few weeks, and his subconscious refused to let him forget the knowledge of his past life, his true self. The Destroyer.

Turning over onto his back, he reached for his nightstand. Radio. Comb. Lamp. Finally—glass…but no water. Reluctantly, Connor flipped the covers over at the corner and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed the glass and shakily stood. Deciding against hitting the light switch in the dead of night, he put his feet on the ground and stood to begin his long journey to the kitchen.

Pain shot through his shin when he kicked his dresser in his blind stupor. The memories of his old life rapidly merged with the new in his waking hours, and he often forgot where he was or how he arrived in his foreign surroundings. Navigating his room in the dark became increasingly more difficult.

Feeling along the wall, Connor stopped when he found the doorknob. He began to turn the brass handle and suddenly stopped when he heard a crash. Listening again, he heard the creak of footsteps as someone walked down the hall.

His superhuman instincts weren't exactly up to par, but whether the figure outside his room was an intruder or not, he was going to be ready.

The bedroom door slammed open, puncturing the wall where the doorknob should have rested. A khoryl demon invited itself inside and surveyed the empty room.

Connor immediately measured itself up to it. Five feet, seven inches to its seven feet, five inches. Thin, intelligent, former-Destroyer to an overdeveloped, muscular demon carrying a large ax. Two options: bust out of the closet and jump through the window or try to fight the demon—and possibly die trying.

Easy decision.

With a yell, Connor flung the closet door open, probably making another hole in the wall, and jumped onto the demon's back. Catching it off-guard, the demon lost its balance and pitched forward. The ax crunching into the khoryl's chest did little to soften the fall, but Connor survived unscathed.

Pausing for a moment, Connor stood and used some of his recovering super-strength to listen for any other demons. Only silence.

He ran into the main hallway and halted as his feet landed with a moist squish. Smelling the air, Connor gagged as the scent of blood filled his nostrils. He heaved over, clutching his stomach, and followed the smell to the place where it was strongest. The path forked in the middle of the corridor and the suffocating stench split its origin—one channel wafting from his parents' bedroom with the other course belonging to the bedroom of his sister.


	2. Haunted

Distribution, disclaimer, and summary can be found in the first chapter.

--

With a satisfying slump, Gunn belched and shoved his bare chicken bones into a nearby trashcan.

"T minus six hours and counting."

Spike looked at him in confusion, "What?"

"That's how long until they'll let me out of this place. I don't like hospitals; they've got this creepy smell—like banks or courthouses or dentists' offices." Gunn cringed.

"Maybe it's cause they're all owned by government-types," Spike suggested. "Do jails smell the same way?"

Gunn glared at Spike, and returned to thinking of his pending release. Two months of clothes with no butt and foods with little sugar—and even less taste—were nearly enough to drive him insane. Soon, he would be returning to the familiar homeliness of the streets. True, it's not really healthy to go back to navigating the sewers just after getting out of the hospital, but what choice did he have?

Wolfram & Hart still hunted for them. Only God knows how Spike managed to keep them away this long. One day, Gunn decided, he would have to ask how Angel and Spike always survived in the ugliest situations.

There were a few weeks where all that Gunn had to do to survive was keep breathing. The portal that the Senior Partners opened in that alley poured demons like his torso poured blood, and as Angel took down the dragon, Spike, Illyria, and Gunn divided the demons amongst them—a few hundred apiece. Gunn remembered well the struggle within his own mind, to just give in to the darkness and let the demons have him, but he continued to stand, continued to fight. He glanced around in the chaos; Illyria seemed to be doing well, no demon or combination of demons matched her godly strength. She continually took on five or six enemies at a time. Spike, not doing as well, was still holding his own. Like Gunn's injuries, Spike had holes leaking pints of blood at a time, but his undead nature worked in his favor.

Gunn found a rhythm in the battle: _Ax up. Swing down. Chop left. Block. Ax up. Swing down. Chop right. Block._ Before it could really register, Gunn was down to his last demon. With a quick swing, its head cleanly flew off, following the horizontal arc of the blade. Looking around, he saw that Illyria was also done. Spike had two demons left but made short order of them with the two swords he had contracted from a couple of long dead foes. The trio grinned at each other, overwhelmingly glad to still be alive. Amazed to still be alive.

And that's when a shriek pierced the air.

Spike smelled fear pervade the hospital room. He slowly realized that the pungent smell wafted from Gunn in waves.

"Hey, you alright?"

Gunn shook the memories away. "Yea, I'm fine. Just thinking of Angel. How is he?"

Spike frowned, "The same."

"No change at all?"

"Nothin'. But, we'll have to move again soon. The furies are getting a little drained from all the mojo. They can only baby-sit the poof for so long, then they'll have to recharge. It's takin' some powerful magicks to keep him protected. The Senior Partners are really pullin' out the big guns."

"Where will we move him?"

"I was thinkin' we'd go back to the Hyperion."

"The Hyperion?!" Gunn cut off his yell, remembering that it was after hours in the hospital. "It was our base of operations for three years. They'll be watching the place."

"No, I've been eyein' the place since we left the alley. No one enters or leaves it. And Wolfram & Hart's goons stopped checkin' on it a few weeks after the battle."

"Too much magic's been done there, Spike. It's on evil radar."

Spike slouched in his chair as he propped his feet of the edge of Gunn's bed. "Maybe that's why we should be there."

"What does that mean?"

"It's a fortress. We can protect him from there. Plus, unless you've done some magic there lately, the furies' protection spell still stands. We get them to make some allowances for me, Angel, and Big Blue and it's a no fight zone. It's the best option we got."

"Rome."

Spike froze as Gunn's implication slowly sunk in.

"We can't go to Rome."

"Why? 'Cause you're whipped by the slayer?"

"As much as I don't wanna see Buffy, there's a bigger story there."

"Which would be?"

"The Council."

"We don't work for Wolfram & Hart anymore, so no prob."

"Angel and I are vampires; the Council's a bloody mass o' slayers. Whether Buffy wants to help us or not, it's not about friends anymore—it's about politics—and the Scoobies know that helping us would put doubts in the girls' heads."

"Doubts. What doubts?"

"If they can't kill a vampire with a soul, then why are they killing vampires instead of ensoulin' 'em?"

"They're slayers; they slay evil thi…"

Spike paid no mind and continued, "If some vampires have souls, then how do they know which are good and which are evil?"

"Same way we do—take em out, but be careful until you're sure…"

Spike continued once again, "If they're trying to be careful all the time, how can they do their jobs?"

"A'right! I get the point!"

A knock rapped on the door. "Mr. Gunn?" The nurse from the front desk peeked her head in. "Everything all right in here?"

"I'm fine," Gunn said, obviously still a little steamed.

"I understand that Spike can't come in during the day, but he's going to have to leave. He's disturbing the other patients."

Spike rose and straightened his jacket. "It's okay, cutie. I was just thinkin' I should be goin' anyway." He nodded toward Gunn as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "See ya in the mornin', Charlie."

"Yea, Spike. Later."

Turning toward the door, he held it open so that the nurse could fully step in and then exited. With a relieved huff, she walked over to Gunn's bed and tucked him in.

"You shouldn't be arguing with him in your condition."

"Girl, I'm fine. I'm annoyed beyond humanly possible, but it's cool. I'm used to it."

Letting her gaze fall, she spotted the chicken bones in his trashcan. "I think I should be used to it too."

Guilty, and a little embarrassed, Gunn coyly smiled and sank further into the covers.

--

The furies were still fussing over Angel when Spike got back to his Wolfram & Hart-supplied apartment.

One girl massaged Angel's muscles and replaced his bandages, "This will help you stay mobile and strong."

Another ran a comb and scissors through his hair, keeping it spiky, "This will help you remain sharp and beautiful."

The third girl held the corner of a bag of blood just inside his lips, occasionally putting pressure on the bag and releasing sustenance into his mouth, "This will help you stay healthy and immortal."

Spike rolled his eyes, and walked over to the refrigerator. "You know, girls, if Angel knew you were messing with his hair, he'd remove your hands with a chain saw and eat em for dessert."

"Angel will be grateful…"

"…for the services…"

"…that we have given."

Emptying a blood bag into a coffee mug, Spike laughed, "If you say so, ladies."

Plopping down onto his couch, Spike took a sip of his blood and watched the furies as they continued to fawn over the fallen champion. They coddled and fussed over him as if he were no more than a child. This picture simply looked…wrong. _Angelus_ wasn't supposed to be bedridden and broken. _Angelus_ had his way with any woman who dared to venture near his cushioned domain. _Angelus_ would have beaten back Wolfram & Hart with no more than a look as Darla laughed from the carriage behind him.

He couldn't bring himself to believe that the rag doll lying in front of him was his sire, his mind denying any chance that it be real. Memories drifted back to the hospital, back to Gunn. At one point, Gunn's smell changed from the hospital's clean, alcohol stench to a richer, more intoxicating aroma. He knew exactly what Gunn was thinking of when fear began to fill the air.

Gunn, Illyria, and he stood in the middle of the alley, believing that the worst was over and cleaning their blades of demon blood. Spike looked around in confusion—the skies were clear but he heard the constant beat of thunder shaking the skies.

He didn't have to wonder but for a moment. Craning his head toward the sound, Gunn and Illyria joined in, seeing the dragon emerge from behind the buildings. Its high-pitched screams were deafening, but awe overwhelmed Spike.

The outline of a master vampire could clearly be seen against the light background of the pre-dawn morning. Angel proudly stood atop the dragon, attempting to tame it as if it were merely a stallion. For a moment, Spike thought, it looked like a famous war painting in gloomy colors of deep grays and golden browns. He also remembered the ache he felt in the bottom of his unbeating heart when he noticed that a bloodied stump, cut off at the elbow, existed where an arm should have led to a right hand. Three holes diagonally marred Angel's chest and stomach; the dragon managed to bite into the champion some time during the fight. Yet, Angel still held his sword, and he was determined to end the battle.

Angel lifted the Claymore high above his head and rested all of his weight onto the blade as it ripped through the air and toward the back of the dragon's chest cavity. Shrieks accompanied repeated stabbings in unison, and the beast began to falter. A wing wavered and both Angel and his prey fell to the side. Spike looked to Gunn and Illyria as they all watched helplessly, waiting for the inevitable to play out.

Refusing to release his sword, Angel drove the point downward one last time. It anchored in the dragon's rib cage for an instant, but gravity pulled the warrior and his blade, slicing from rib to wing, and they were sent in a lethal spiral.

The apartment door slammed open, waking Spike from his unpleasant reverie. Looking down at his mug, Spike realized that it was empty, and further inspection of the room revealed the furies' fading smell. They had probably left with the sunrise—nearly an hour ago. With a frown, Spike did the math: he was sitting in the chair the entire night, drifting around in his own little world.

An unkempt teen stood in the threshold, panting from lack of breath and reeking of dirt and vampire dust. The blue of his eyes were glazed, yet his emotions remained well-guarded. Shadows graced his features as his gaze settled on his father.

With only a pair of pants covering Angel, Connor could plainly make out the cavities between his ribs. His arm had nearly grown back, all fingers present, but the skin covering the newly-regained limb was blistered, angry, and red. Bandages still adorned his pale skin, refusing to heal in the absence of proper nourishment. A tear paved a clean trail along Connor's dirty cheek as he realized that sunken sockets trapped his father's soulful gaze inside.

Spike rose and sat his mug into the sink. "Can I help ya with somethin', kid? Or are ya just lookin' for another fight?"

Connor wiped the unnoticed tear from his face and tightened his grip on the dagger he concealed behind his wrist.


	3. Anew

Distribution, disclaimer, and summary can be found in the first chapter.

--

Shallow breaths. Always shallow breaths. Vampires can sense you if you panic. Smell your fear. Hear your heartbeat. Always stay calm. Always shallow breaths.

She hid outside Spike's apartment, listening to the fight as it raged on inside.

"Get offa me kid!"

"I'm not leaving here without him!"

"Then you're not leaving."

She heard the crash of glass breaking. _Probably a lamp._ The wall behind her shook with the force of the supernatural battle.

"Who the bloody hell are you kid?"

"The Destroyer."

The crack of knuckles against a jaw sounded, and Spike howled with pain.

With relief, she sighed and looked again to her clipboard. Raising her pen, she quickly jotted Angel's location and newest captor. Her superiors would be pleased to know that not only had she found the vampire, but she would be able to lead them right to the front door. A last flick of her wrist finished the notation on her yellow pad, and she began to walk away.

Taking a step back, she hit a wall.

_There was no wall here…_

A blade whisked through the air and rested coldly on her collarbone.

"Why don't we go inside?"

She subtly nodded and took baby steps toward the door. A rich brown hand reached around her and edged her—and his ax—through the entryway.

"You guys wanna stop fighting and say 'hey' to our guest?"

The duo froze and looked up at Gunn. Spike had Connor trapped in a headlock, but Connor's grip around Spike's right knee showed Connor's intent to pull Spike to the ground.

"Who's she?" Connor asked, though Spike's arm muffled the question.

"She's a Watcher," Spike answered and released Connor. "She's been followin' me for close to a month by now. Didn't think she'd be dumb enough to actually try to get inside here though."

Gunn looked up at Connor, finally noticing his presence.

"Hey kid! What are you doin' coming back here?"

"Long story—you guys aren't the only ones the Senior Partners are after."

Concerned, Gunn asked, "You get attacked?"

"A few nights ago," Connor reluctantly admitted. "They killed my family—the family that Angel put me with after the…Jasmine…thing." Unsure of what to say, Gunn waited in uncomfortable silence for Connor to continue. "I knew that you guys made it. Demons have been talking now that the resident champion is out of commission. I came to see if you guys needed a little help waging the war and tracked Dad's smell to Peroxide-vamp."

Gunn laughed, "Oh, that's Spike. He's got a soul, but he's one of Angel's vamp friends from back in the day. Back in the soulless day."

"Okay, so the brat knows who I am. Now who's he?" Spike demanded.

"I'm Connor," he said, interrupting Gunn. "Angel's my father."

"The poof doesn't have a kid. He's a tad inept, with the fangs and the dead soldiers and all. Though…you do kinda have the overhanging brow thing."

"Naw," Gunn disagreed, "the kid's really Angel's. There's a ton of backstory, but I'm sure watcher lady here can fill ya in."

She rolled her sharp, chocolate eyes and, as Gunn loosed his grip on her arm, began her summary, "Angelus, Scourge of Europe, mated with his sire to produce a child who would later become known as The Destroyer; however, when he found the need to hide the identity of said child, he erased the memories of all who had known him and hid the child's aura from all who would wish to find him."

Jaws dropped in the woman's general direction. Her crisp, British accent hung in the now silent room.

Spike was first to shake away the shock. "Well, aren't you little Miss Angel-trivia?"

"I did not say it to be snobbish. Mr. Gunn slightly released his grip on my arm in hopes that I might tell you everything I know. In return for my information, I should hope that perhaps he will fully relinquish his hold—before my entire arm turns blue from lack of circulation."

Embarrassment fluttered across Gunn's features, and he released her.

"Thank you," she stiffly replied and straightened her jacket, refastening the buttons in front.

Gunn nodded down at her and looked to Spike, "What should we do with her?"

Spike flopped on the couch. "Just shut the door. She's not goin' anywhere." He flashed his vamp face at her as Gunn closed and bolted the door. "_Angelus, Scourge of Europe_," Spike said, mocking her. "There were four of us, you know. Five sometimes with Penn."

No one paid him any attention.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Connor offered and gestured toward Spike.

"That's alright. I believe I'll stand."

Spike smiled in response to her wavering confidence. "You know, it takes some brass to stalk a vampire and his friends."

"Well, the Council has changed. We're a different organization. I am a field operative and it is my job to keep tabs on the 'champions' that the Powers That Be have given responsibility. My title demands a certain level of experience, and I can take care of myself."

"So you work with the slayers?" Gunn asked. "Buffy, Faith—the ones in Europe?"

"Hardly," she replied. "The slayers have made it perfectly clear that they want nothing to do with anyone who may have been a part of the old council. I am such a person."

"Then, as you put it, what makes you think you can go after the Scourge of Europe?" Spike taunted. "It's not like you have a pack of slayers in your corner."

"You don't frighten me, William. My assignment was to locate and retrieve Angelus, and that is what I shall do."

"Not while we're standing guard, dollface. Oh, and it's Spike now." Spike stood and walked over to open the door. "Get out. Or we'll throw you out."

Connor quickly objected, "You're letting her go?"

"She's harmless."

A proud smile remained on the watcher's face even after she walked out of the apartment and the door was slammed shut behind her. With a certain level of satisfaction, she pulled a cell phone from inside of her blouse and hit a button on her speed dial.

"Hello?"

"Excellent news, Lawrence."

"You have Angel?"

"Not quite, Lawrence."

"Then what do you have for me, boss?"

"Angelus is still being guarded by Spike, but their newest place of residence seems to be the apartment that Spike attained when Angelus was still CEO of Wolfram & Hart."

"They're hiding from the Senior Partners in plain sight."

"Exactly."

"So when can I send some more operatives to retrieve Angel?"

"Probably not soon. There are some…complications."

"'Complications'?"

"The furies, Lawrence. We are going to have to hire some mystics to undo a few guarding spells. Also, Spike has arranged for them to put up a few mystical boundaries around the apartment. It helps to protect them and keeps them hidden from the Senior Partners."

"How does it work?"

"The active parts of the spell are similar to the one that we found at the ruins of the demon sanctuary. It keeps anyone without permission from fighting within the perimeter—human or demon."

"We'll have the mystics on the phone and working on the problem by nightfall. Anything else going to give us grief?"

"Just Connor—Angel's son."

"The one in college?"

"The one with whom I just became better acquainted. He's returned."

--

"I'm not back for ten minutes, and the drama has already started." Gunn shook his head and sat on the couch next to Spike.

"At least you're back."

Nodding in agreement with Spike, Gunn smiled and tilted his head toward Connor.

"So how long were you and Connor fighting?"

"Eh, five minutes, give or take. Kid fights like his dad."

Unease set in as Spike realized that he and Gunn needed to finish their earlier discussion. "So, I was gonna call some moving guys…"

"We're not moving!" Gunn immediately retorted. "I thought we were done trying to figure this out. It would just be easier to keep things the way they are."

"What are you guys arguing about?" Connor asked.

"Spike wants to move away from the furies' special mojo and into the Hyperion—you know, the hotel that Wolfram & Hart knows we called 'home' for three years." Gunn scoffed.

"Right, as opposed to stayin' 'ere, where the last known remnants of the Watcher's Council are breathin' down our necks—which is actually nice for a change, considerin' that Wolfram & Hart is two shakes from ambushing us anyway."

Connor thought about both sides for a moment, and effortlessly reached a suggestion. "So why don't you guys move the team into the hotel and take the furies' protection spells with you?" Connor looked around the room, slowly noticing the absence of the core of Angel Investigations. "Where is 'the team' anyway? The last time I was here, I only got to see Angel. Wesley, Fred, Lorne, Cordy—they're around here somewhere, right?"

Uneasy, Gunn and Spike made eye contact and tried to stare one into forcing the other to give Connor his ill-fated answer. Gunn reluctantly broke eye contact and offered up the answer, "We took some casualties in fighting Wolfram & Hart."

Panic washed over Connor, but a deep breath buried it to brace him for the conversation to come.

"Who?"

"Cordy died in her coma. She _never_ woke up." The hint of sarcasm in Gunn's voice confused Connor, but Gunn continued. "Fred was next. She got infected by a demon…kinda. We call her Illyria now—still one of the good guys…we think."

"And Lorne?"

"Disappeared after the fight. He's prolly still alive, listenin' to bad singers somewhere, but we don't really know what happened to him."

Connor's voice failed him for a second, and with a rough wheeze, he cleared his throat for his last question, "And…Wesley?"

It was the only answer that Gunn refused to hesitate in giving. "He died in the fight. He died a hero. Angel would…" He stopped, realizing his mistake in verb tense. "Angel _will_ be proud. When he wakes up, I mean."

When the thoughts of their misery first dawned on him, Connor was able to put it aside to give Gunn the chance to fully explain, but this time, he couldn't stop the panic welling within him. Time halted as Connor voiced his one conclusion: "Wolfram & Hart gutted you guys, and we have no friends left in this war."

Gunn and Spike looked away, not arguing but not responding.

Connor stepped over to Angel and surveyed the damage still dominating his body.

"Set up a house call for the furies. It's time we moved back into the Hyperion."


	4. Parallel

Distribution, disclaimer, and summary can be found in the first chapter.

--

Grunts and heavy breathing accompanied the shuffling of feet. Gunn awkwardly clung to Angel's upper torso while Spike held Angel's legs by their ankles.

Between gasps, Gunn tried to huff a complaint, "So why…did I…ugh…get volunteered…to carry most of the dead weight?"

Spike shrugged his shoulders with relative ease, jostling Angel and threatening Gunn's balance. "Figure I gotta be ready in case we get jumped. I'm quicker—vamp moves 'n' all."

"You're also…stronger. Vamp strength…'n' all."

"Yea, but if we get attacked, I could just drop his feet and start swingin'. But hey, I got no problem droppin' his head instead. Wanna trade?"

_Sore ribs, ugly-ass-lookin' arm, starving…yea, let's add concussion to Angel's injury list. _Gunn dismissed the proposal and continued to lumber along. "So why…couldn't Connor help?"

"Oi, don't you start in on the kid. He's scoutin' out the tunnels for us. He can't carry the unconscious champion and look out for demon armies."

Reluctantly, Gunn accepted the fact that he was stuck with the lifting.

"Look Charlie, if you wanna stop and sprawl on the sewer grounds for a tick, we'll catch a breather." Spike dropped Angel's feet with a thud.

"You don't breathe." Gunn gently propped Angel against a wall and sat next to him, in effort to keep him from falling face first into the sewer's filth. "How far ahead is Connor?"

Spike sniffed the air for Connor's scent and looked toward the surface, "He should be underneath the hotel by now. We're only a couple o' blocks away."

"Wish Illyria was here. She'd have our backs. And she could carry Angel with one hand," Gunn mumbled. "Wonder where she is right now."

"She was on the east coast last I heard," Spike said as he sat on Angel's other side. "She paid a few shamans to send me a vision. I was drinkin' for days after that pain."  
"What's on the east coast?"

"Nothin' apparently. She's just followin' leads, chasin' the bad guys…or the good guys. Whatever."

"The good guys?"

"She ran into Giles diggin' up dirt in Cleveland."

"That name supposed ta mean somethin' to me?"

"He, uh, he was Buffy's watcher. The one she had before Wes." Spike quickly rambled on, trying to avoid a conversation over his lost love. "Giles followed some coven info to New York and met up with some guy in a bookstore."

"What was he looking for?"

"Prophecies on Angel. History on Angel. How Angel found Buffy. Backstory between Angel and Wolfram & Hart. Anything. Everything he could find."

"What did he find?"

"Don't know. That's what big blue's after."

They sat in silence for a moment and had a brood session. Gunn realized that—were Angel awake—it was what Angel would be doing. He would be sitting on the cold cement with them, trying to think of a way out of the mess that Wolfram and Hart chased them into. _No, not just Wolfram and Hart anymore._ Both old and new sectors of the Watcher's Council had staked their claim in Angel's legacy as well. Good _and_ evil were after Angel, though Gunn and Spike weren't sure which organization fell into which of the two categories. Angel was apparently the one man that evil couldn't beat down, and his fight had become an instant legend in the eyes of the future warriors for the Powers. He and his friends had been devastated in their battle, yet they were still standing.

"We should've died in that fight." Gunn bluntly stated, letting the bitter sound of the sentence hang in the moist air.

Spike tried to laugh it off. "Really? Think things woulda been better off, do ya?"

Gunn nodded in agreement. "We wouldn't be running like mice in one of those runny-wheel thingies. Angel would've found his redemption. Illyria would've been able to find her own place in the world, whatever that is. Connor would've been able to put his past with Angel—and us—behind him and lead a normal life..."

"We're all supposed to be here, Charlie, otherwise the Powers woulda just let us get sliced up into tiny, tiny pieces."

"So you're okay with still being here?"

"What's the alternative?"

"_You_ wouldn't have to worry about the Powers thinking you're a champion, 'cause you would've died one."

"Oh." Spike thought over how good that actually sounded, "Well, point of fact—that could be a half-decent alternative." Spike looked into Gunn's wistful eyes and knew he was thinking of his own demise. "And you, Charlie boy? What would you get out of the deal?"

"Me…well, I was kinda hoping Alonna and I could talk for a while without goin' out to fight vamps every night."

"Alonna?"

"My sister. She was turned right around the time I met Angel. She was the first vamp I staked when I started slayin' with the group."

"So she's why you do this?"

"No. Not really. My parents died cause of vamps; a lot of my friends died cause of vamps. It was just what I had to do. Cause I could. Wonder where my truck is?" Spike looked at him in uncertainty, wondering if Gunn had finally caved under the pressure of running, but Gunn only smiled. "She was the ultimate ride—stake launcher in the back, massive pikes comin' out the front. She could take out twenty vamps on a good night."

"What happed to it?"

"Her, Spike. _Her._"

"Fine, what happened to _'er_?"

"When we joined Wolfram & Hart, I gave her to the group I used to fight with back home. I bet they're takin' decent care of her."

Spike envied the simplicity of Gunn's love for his truck. It was something he could cling to, fondly remember. Spike had few things like that. Well, few things that didn't involve mile-wide massacres, anyway.

"Spike, you got a truck?"

"Had a De Soto once."

"No," Gunn laughed, "I mean, you got anything that you always look back on?"

Spike's eyes glittered, "There was this girl once…"

"We're not talking about Buffy."

Spike looked at him in shock. "I wasn't even gonna say her."

"Right."

Suddenly, Connor raced around the corner, startling them both to their feet as they took protective stances over Angel's body.

"Get Dad. We have to go."

After taking a closer look, Gunn noticed a slight slump in Connor's posture. A glimmer of light reflected off of the nearby sewer water, illuminating a gash on his temple. Drops of blood trickled from the still-open wound and merged with the filth as they hit the sewer bottom.

Gunn lifted Connor's hairline to get a closer look and winced at the sight. "How did this happen?"

"How else? Demons." Connor reached to pull Angel off of the ground, but expectantly looked up when neither Gunn nor Spike moved. "You guys gonna stay here and die or help me carry him the rest of the way? We don't really have a lot of time here."

Spike shrugged, "I'm in."

Rolling his eyes, Gunn picked up a pipe leaning against a wall and hefted it over his shoulder, testing its weight. "So, what we fightin'?"

Connor managed to lift Angel into a fireman's carry and picked up the pace, "Come on. We just have to get to the Hyperion."

"How 'bout you tell us now, and I'll decide whether I need to find another pipe for Spike," Gunn retorted, while he and Spike lagged behind.

"I ran into some demons beneath the hotel. They thought they were going to be able to ambush us all at once, but I managed to kill the ones that I found there. I got a little information out of one of them: there are about a hundred demons coming behind us—fast. The plan wasn't just the diversion from the front; they were going to try to trap us from the back too."

"So even if we get into the Hyperion," Gunn began to rationalize, "how do we stay alive when we can't escape?"

--

**Yorkshire 1880**

"**Excellent, William. You've done it again."**

**William raced down the sewer with a confident air, chin raised in selfish pride, while Darla continued to scold her great-grandchilde to no avail. She was tired, hungry, and fed up with running from mob scenes. Trying to keep her dress off of the dank sewer ground was becoming a chore as she hurried with only one shoe on; she carried the other in her hand after its heel broke off in the chase.**

"**How you've managed to attract two mobs in a matter of mere days astounds me. Angelus and I relish in our own messes and massacres, but this—leaving people behind to scurry and band together against us…it's nothing close to anything resembling intellect, William."**

"**Drucilla left something behind," William replied, "something important to her. And my Dru's not happy when she doesn't have things her way, is she?"**

**Pouting, Drucilla bowed her head and softly mewled. "All my pretty things are gone. I shall miss them so." She looked up at Angelus, pleading with her eyes. "What shall I do without all my gifts from Daddy?"**

**Angelus broke the firm glare that he held on the two love birds, always unable to resist Drucilla's pouting, and tucked a reassuring finger under Drucilla's chin. "Don't worry, my dark girl. Daddy will always have new surprises."**

**Slowly reaching underneath his jacket, Angelus gently cradled a porcelain doll and offered it to Drucilla.**

**Wide-eyed, Darla peered at it in awe. "Oh, Angelus, it's perfect for her. It's absolutely beautiful."**

**Hair, blacker than obsidian, adorned the dolls' head, providing stunning contrast to the fair, milky-white of its skin. Drucilla drew her hands over the doll and pulled it into a tender embrace, uncharacteristic for a creature so deadly as she. She marveled at the realistic touches—the velvety lace of the dress that subtly led to the tiny black shoes, the delicate pinks and reds that lighted on the cheeks and lips, the flecks of gold that shone in the olive colored eyes…**

"**No! I take offense to her eyes! She watches me! I hear her mocking joy for such a dead thing. We are all the same to her. All brothers and sisters in her unbeating heart!"**

**Angelus tore a small piece of cloth from his shirt cuff and wrapped it around the doll's head, blindfolding it with the black material. "There now, it can't see with that on, now can it?"**

**Smiling, Drucilla held it in front of her and inspected it once more. "Oh, it's perfect now, Daddy! I'll keep it forever. She looks like a little girl I ate once. Her name was Edith."**

**The group began moving along in the sewers again, with Drucilla still fawning over her new present, while William remained behind, mumbling desperate attempts to vie for his sire's attention. "Drucilla, love, if you think that doll's special, just wait—I'll buy you dozens of dolls…hundreds. You'll have any doll you want, every doll…"**

**From only a few yards back, the sounds of an angry mobs' footsteps crept closer. Torches faintly lit the confined tunnels, and pitchforks glinted sharply in the golden crackles of light. The townspeople bitterly grinned, hungry with the prospect that they grew closer to the vampires—creatures that they began referring to as prey.**


	5. Bruised

Distribution, disclaimer, and summary can be found in the first chapter.

--

As the group reached the Hyperion, Connor sat Angel on the ground and opened the sewer entrance to the basement. While Gunn climbed ahead, Connor and Spike lifted Angel from his shoulders and feet.

"Okay guys, push him through!"

Connor and Spike clumsily shoved Angel through the small manhole, failing at trying to be careful of Angel's still open wounds. His newly-formed arm began bleeding from the rough handling, making Gunn's grip slick and making the task more difficult.

"Got 'im!" Gunn yelled down and finished pulling Angel up by himself. He returned to the hole and reached his hand to the darkness. "Alright, grab my hand and I'll pull you guys up."

A blur—Connor jumped through the manhole, scaring Gunn backward a few feet. Spike jumped through next and stood beside Connor.

"Don't worry, Charlie boy. Us supernatural types—we can manage to get through a simple hole in the ground."

A crash sounded from the hotel lobby.

The group looked at each other, silently checking to make sure that they weren't just hearing things.

Gunn looked to Spike, "You should go see what that was."

"Me?!" Spike incredulously asked. "If he were awake, Angel woulda gone, so I'm voting for Junior 'ere ta go."

"Coward," Connor whispered under his breath and walked over to the door. Leaning his ear against it, he listened once more for the crash he heard before.

"_Ahh!"_

_The sound of a solid, connecting punch._

_A growl._

_Some words—another language. Latin, maybe?_

_Screams. Human._

_Metal on metal—swordfighting?_

"What is it?" Gunn watched Connor's facial expressions change with every sound he heard.

"Stay here and guard Angel," Connor commanded. "Spike, let's go."

Connor cracked the door open and pressed himself flat against the wall. Soundlessly, he slid to the nearby corner and peered around it. A battle raged in the lobby. A dozen green demons, covered in armor, fought another dozen or more humans, who had no weapons in hand. For the most part, the humans proved that they could handle themselves in battle, but the occasional foreign slur released a slew of magic upon the demons, weakening them when it appeared that they were gaining the upper hand.

A blue streak shot out of the hand of one of the humans, and as she turned, Connor saw that it was the watcher that they had questioned earlier that day.

"Spike, look."

Surveying the entire scene, it wasn't tough for Spike to figure out what was going on. "Watchers. All of 'em. _Old_ watchers."

"Ever seen the demons before?"

"Mohra demons. Angel's got a few entries about 'em in his journal."

Connor looked at him in surprise, "You've read his journals?"

Sheepishly, Spike looked away, "There's not much ta do when you're just a freakin' ghost."

They turned their attention back to the scene before them.

"You think they're fighting over Dad?" Connor whispered.

"Probably—but I don't know why. Not like he's anything special. Just another vamp with a soul. Hell, I got me one. Had it for a couple a years."

"You're wrong."

"'bout what?"

"About Dad. There _is_ something the Powers see in him!"

"You didn't even like the man for the majority of your unnatural life! How is it that _you_ are callin' _me_ wrong?"

The blunt statement sunk in for a moment, and Connor was speechless to reply. His silence blended with the quiet that seemed to pervade the room.

"So you think the Powers got a plan?" Spike's line of sight was far from Connor's eyes. "You know, it'd be nice if they could step up right now."

Evidently, the duo's argument had gotten everyone's attention, and both demons and humans were looking at them with hunger in their eyes.

--

**The fanged quartet quickened their pace long ago, trying to get outside the city, trying to outrun the sunrise. The underground maze seemed to go on forever, but they were finally near its exit. Darla, though usually at Angelus's side, lagged in back. The initial pleasure at Drucilla's gift wore off quickly, and she immediately grew tired of carrying herself on one good shoe.**

**Angelus noticed her impatience and allowed William and Drucilla to lead for the moment.**

"**Darla, don't be cross wit' me, love. Give us a smile, and I'll buy ya a new hat." Angelus coyly threw his boyish smirk her way, hoping that it might elicit the slightest mischievous twinkle in her eyes.**

**He got his wish. Not only did she smile her biggest smile, but she stopped and turned her head to give her a finer view of her silhouette.**

"**Dat's my girl."**

"**No." A simple retort.**

"**No?" he asked, confused at the word.**

"**Your girl does not enjoy sewer frolicking…" Her smile disappeared. "…and breaking the heels off of her especially expensive _shoes_!" With that one word, she promptly flung her heel-less shoe at her childe with all of the vampiric force that her arm could muster.**

**As he nursed the blow to his stomach, he missed the sight of Darla furiously removing her other shoe and sending it at him as well. Looking up, he watched in slow motion as the shoe spiraled through the air and landed, heel first, on his temple—the blow sending him sprawling to the ground.**

**William and Drucilla giggled at the end of the tunnel.**

"**Quiet!" Angelus shouted and roughly struggled to his feet, wiping the blood from his brow.**

**The giggling stopped.**

**Surprised at the silence, Angelus returned to nursing his wounds. "Well, dat's ne'er worked b'fore."**

**Darla stepped forward and gently rested her hand on Angelus's shoulder; he recoiled at the touch. "Damn it, woman, have ya not beaten me enough fer da day?"**

"**Angelus, look."**

**William and Drucilla stood at the would-be exit to the tunnel…the boarded…the nailed…the _closed_ exit to the tunnel. The last remnants of moonlight faded behind the thick boards; the vampires could smell the dawn coming.**

**Gripping one side of a board, Angelus pulled and yelled for help, "William, pull de o'der end!"**

**For one brief moment, William actually listened to his grandsire and tugged at the boards alongside him.**

"**They're not moving!"**

**Angelus glared at him, "Pull it!"**

**The board budged less than half an inch and stopped with no better having been done.**

"**Thinking of leaving?"**

**The vampires turned to see that the mob had finally caught up with them, and they were capable of quite efficient traps.**

**--**

"Well Shiny, as a matter of fact, yea—we were thinkin' o' leavin'," Spike sarcastically retorted to the Mohra demon who dared to speak up.

"Where is Angelus?" the watcher from before demanded. Paranoid, she looked back and forth between Spike and Connor and the Mohra demons. "We cannot hold them off forever, and neither can you."

"Where one of us falls, ten will arise," a Mohra growled.

Spike dismissed the threat, "Yea, yea, whatever. You stay over there or we'll start crushing red sparkly things, got it?"

The demons collectively snarled, and Connor looked to Spike. "You know what you're doing, right?"

Spike shrugged ambiguously and waited for one of their enemies to make a move.

The watcher spoke first. "We can protect you, protect Angelus." She knew the Mohras' patience was going to eventually grow thin, and if she and her fellow watchers were going to live through the fight, she would have to make a deal.

Connor flinched in surprise, amazed that she would cave so easily. "We can't trust you; you're trying to kidnap him, and we're not that stupid." He glanced at Spike, who was beginning to think it over. "Well, I'm not anyway."

"Hey!"

After quickly throwing an apologetic look Spike's way, Connor straightened his wrist, releasing the dagger that he concealed in his sleeve.

Spike shifted into vamp mode with a smile, "Gotta love the way the kid thinks."

Splitting the Mohra demons into thirds, Connor cornered himself with a handful, leaving Spike and the remaining watchers to split the rest of them.

"We can help each other!" the lead watcher yelled as she conjured a protective shield around herself.

Connor threw a Mohra off of his back and, straightening himself, used his dagger to swiftly jab at the jewels on another two demons to either side of him. "I think I'm doing just fine here. Yup, no watchers needed."

"Same here," Spike said, head-butting the demon in front of him. The demon disappeared in a stab of blinding light, and Spike turned his playful attention to the next one.

The watcher shot a fireball at a demon, rewarded with the same effects that Connor and Spike received, and continued her negotiations. "This isn't a game you know." Another fireball sent a Mohra reeling into another blinding mess. "You have to make a deal with one side. Good or evil. Right or wrong. You cannot play both sides anymore."

"So you guys are good now?" Connor rhetorically invited as he polished off another three demons with a roundhouse kick and two more jabs of the dagger.

"We were always good," she replied and released another spell, one that confused Connor. With a flurry of green lights, it wiped out the Mohras surrounding her, and she was able to move to help her fellow watchers in finishing their opponents.

Spike scoffed loudly and began jabbing wildly at the demons surrounding him, "Well, let's see: you wouldn't help save Angel from this virus thing once, which…I don't care, but you almost got the slayer killed too many times for me to try to count…while I'm not sober." He punched at his last two Mohras and ran over to help Connor, not bothering to stay to watch the demons vanish.

With a yell, Connor flipped behind the two adversaries in front of them and held them in place for Spike to crack their jewels. That task done, Connor effortlessly tossed his dagger behind him, stabbing his last Mohra in dead center of its jewel.

The watchers, many of them beaten and bloody, stood on the landing of the front entrance. Seven of them made it through the brawl, but some of them, Connor knew, wouldn't make it through the night. She would though.

"Connor, we have to ask you for your father's body." She held her gaze firmly set on Connor's own, barring the one instant that she spared to visually plead with Spike. They would have to see the truth in her eyes. "We will burn this hotel to the ground if we must."

Spike looked over all of the watchers standing before them, threatening them with their magicks. The shallow, flat look in their eyes told him that they weren't lying—they were prepared to do whatever they had to in order to complete their task.

_Another bind_, Spike thought. _Could definitely use one of Angel's miracles right about now._


	6. Impermanent

**With a yell, the farmer in front of the group threw a pitchfork, stabbing Angelus in the thigh, and the fight ensued.**

**A steady stream of angry townspeople rushed past Angelus and ran to attack Darla and Drucilla. Many of the towns they had terrorized before had been enraged to the point of revenge, but no other place had ever cornered them so efficiently, and William felt true fear for the first time since he was turned. He slunk into a shadowed area near the boarded exit as Darla and Drucilla began their defense.**

"**Angelus!" Darla screamed and jumped headlong into the fray.**

**From up ahead, bodies flew in all directions as Angelus pulled the pitchfork from his body and used it to push the mortals off of him. "I'm 'ere, love. And Drucilla?"**

**Drucilla growled and sunk her teeth into the man standing in front of her. A stake, held close to her heart, fell from his fingertips as life escaped him. As she ripped her fangs from the blood-covered throat, she searched in vain for her mate. "My William—shall I play seek?"**

**Deadly yet professional grace, marked Darla's coming and going, leaving four broken necks in her wake. Drucilla's method of defense proved to be more dangerous to the vampire family—trying to feed off of every human who stepped her way—and as the humans backed Drucilla against the boarded expanse, Darla moved to help her.**

"**Mummy? Have you arrived to deliver them?"**

**Two men stood in front of Drucilla, blocking her flight and using their torches to try to light Drucilla's clothing. With otherworldly speed, Darla ran to join her grandchilde. Darla lashed out, dealing fierce, swift punches that turned the necks of the men at odd angles, leaving them no time to feel the pain. Drucilla giggled with delight.**

"**Oh, you've saved me from the flames. No gallows for me! I must give you a present!"**

**As usual, Darla dismissed Drucilla's rantings. She noticed that blood from the sewer floor began to soak into her expensive dress and bent to remove the jacket from—what she assumed—was a lifeless man. Drucilla's fangs had made nasty work of the exposed neck and face, making his features more than a challenge to distinguish. As she laid the coat on the ground, creating a dry island for herself, she glanced toward the shadows at the rear of the passage. The glint of vampiric eyes shimmered in the darkness.**

**The hypnotic sway of Drucilla's catlike approach gathered none of the remaining fighters' attentions. Angelus had managed to accumulate a pile of bodies and was about to add a final corpse to the heap when Drucilla noticed a young, brave mortal crouching behind her sire. The boy could not have been more than twenty, but like the rest, he had followed the mob to avenge his family. Shaking with fear, the boy could barely steady the stake he held, much less raise it to Angelus's back.**

**Drucilla admired the courage the boy exposed…admired his heart.**

**A sick squish drew Angelus's attention to the action behind him. He shoved his, now useless, pitchfork into the chest of the man before him and turned to register the strange sound. The tip of his shoe hitched on the body at his feet and nearly tripped him as he spun around. A gaping cavity looked up at him from the boy's chest; wide-eyed shock still on the young man's face.**

**Angelus watched as his childe strode up to his sire and presented her hands.**

"**Mummy! I promised your present and here it is!"**

**Confused, Darla held her hand out as Drucilla neatly dropped a healthy heart into it. Darla smiled with the understanding that only a mother could know and offered up a reply.**

"**And would you enjoy a surprise?"**

**Jumping up and down, Drucilla giggled once more and clapped her hands. "Goody, a gift for me as well! It is a happy day!"**

**Angel crept up behind Darla, wrapping his arm seductively around her waist. "Do I get one too?" He flashed his smile at her and nuzzled into her neck.**

"**In time, my love. In time. For now, I think there are more important things. Have you found your pet, little one?" she asked Drucilla.**

"**I could've sworn I had 'im on a leash, but he's run away and won't be called with treats."**

"**Well, there he is, lamb—cowering in the shadows, praying for deliverance. Does God answer you?"**

**Stepping into the dull sewer light, William swept the hair out of his eyes and waited for the punishment he knew would come. Soft steps padded through the puddles of blood, and Drucilla ran her hand down the side of her childe's face. He smiled, thinking he had her forgiveness. Leaning close, she whispered in his ear, her gentle, unneeded breath tickling the smooth flesh there.**

"**You're my li'l prince and spankings are for fun. I'm not going to hurt you." She giggled, seeing the fear drain from his face as he relaxed. "But he might."**

**Her sing-song voice turned alluringly sadistic as she turned to face Angelus. He unwrapped his arms from around his lover and allowed his demonic features to come to the forefront. He growled with fury and his golden eyes flashed at William's insolence. Retribution was in order.**

Slowly, any remaining pity drained from the watcher's face. It was time to put to use the coldness that the council had long groomed in her heart. Spurring her anger forth, she drew her fury into her fingertips. Blue fire raged as she raised her arm, aiming it at Spike and Connor.

"You're gonna have to do it," Spike reminded her as she hesitated for another moment.

"The two of you are pieces of history," she simply stated. "Your deaths will be a heavy price for our side to pay."

"That is, if you can manage to hit us at all with that blue crap."

"Goodbye, William and Connor."

Suddenly, the other watchers raised their hands, each of them crackling with the magicks of their leader. The duo seemed quite a bit more surrounded than they were just a second before. No exits. No escapes in sight.

"Flame."

Streams of radiant blue shot out at Spike and Connor as their screams filled the air. Spike remembered what it was like to die at the hellmouth, and the luminescence had not changed. He closed his eyes, not bothering to look to Connor's protection. They were equally matched in their mortality. Death waited with his scythe for the release of his victims' souls—a delivery that would never come.

Spike ceased his screaming, hearing no wails from the boy beside him, and opened his eyes. The magicks that once threatened to destroy them had symmetrically surrounded them, unable to break through a white shell that remained their only barrier from death's pull. Looking toward the lobby staircase, three women stood on the landing.

The furies, arms outstretched, easily combated the watchers' power. From in the distance Connor saw Gunn hurriedly dragging Angel by the shoulders into the lobby.

"More demons are trying to come through the sewers. I had to come in here."

Gunn suddenly noticed the tension in the room and the fight that stirred under the surface.

"Maybe I should've stayed out there."

Each of the furies rapidly spoke in turn, refusing to stop for any questions.

"Our laws…"

"…will protect you…"

"…from further harm."

"Angel must be allowed to heal."

"The balance of good and evil will be restored."

"Players in destiny's game shall find their place."

"No violence with intention…"

"…will be set in motion…"

"…in this new place of sanctuary."

The air crackled with energy as the furies' spell reverberated throughout the house, and the space behind them shifted as they opened a portal for travel and turned to leave.

"We owe you cuties one!" Spike yelled after them.

As they faded into the swirling of the purple portal lights, their voices drifted back to them.

"When Angel wakes…"

"…tell him that we will come…"

"…to collect our…pay."

The portal closed with a flash, and the council operatives were left to stare at the prize they would have to leave behind. One last look at Angel's recuperating corpse, and the watchers filed out, led by the woman soldier that Spike intuitively knew they would be seeing again. Maybe they would be seeing them all again.

_Not anytime soon, I'd hope,_ Spike thought with a scowl.

"So what now?" Gunn asked, sure that he wasn't the only one that was lost.

**William let his mouthful of blood drain from the corner of his lip and pool onto the sewer floor below.**

"**My William learns, doesn't he? He knows now the fame of Daddy's anger and does not want it again," Drucilla giggled.**

**William smiled from his cold spot of the floor.**

"**He'll come to warrant ano'der lashin' soon," Angelus replied to his naïve childe. "But now he knows the importance of family. It's not just some prattle that the Master spewed. It's what keeps us alive."**

**William stood, standing face to face with Angelus.**

**Softly, Darla's voice spoke. "Do we have your allegiance, William?"**

**He bowed his head, only slightly, in submission.**

**Angelus, satisfied in his victory, tilted William's head up to meet his eyes. Bruises began to form and fade on Angelus' face even as William continued to watch. "I am not arrogant enough to say dat no rogue warrior will ever stake me, but as long as you're under my care, William, I can say dat dey'll ne'er rid o' you."**

Connor and Spike stepped through the lobby debris and bent to pick up Angel, carefully depositing him on the couch.

"We have to clean him up," Connor said, gesturing toward his father. Angel's blood freely flowed from the broken scabs on his fresh arm. The muscle became re-exposed to the open air; the first layer of re-grown skin was all but worn away.

"And after that?" Gunn asked. "What about the demons? I don't wanna run forever."

"And you won't." A hollow voice echoed against the battered walls. Turning to face the entrance that the watchers had just left through, the men were met with the sight of Illyria, battered and bruised but alive.

"You're back," Gunn said with a hint of hope.

"It was a tedious task to punch my way through the hoards building outside, but I am here and with little injury. I will continue to fight on your side of good. The Powers that Be continue to intrigue me. Their purposes with mortals are more complicated than I find pleasure in admitting."

"Where have you been?" Connor asked.

"There is a slayer among this Fred Burkle's memories, and she has given me a place among the other mortal fighters."

Spike scoffed, "Buffy gave you a position at the new council?"

"Not Buffy," Gunn replied. "Faith."

"She has bestowed a research position but remains unaware that this is only a shell. It allows me to continue to learn of Wolfram & Hart's plans."

Connor looked at her in confusion, "They'll only send more demons after us until we're dead. Why do we need to keep up with them now?"

"The Senior Partners have chosen to place my essence in league with the Powers' warriors, if they could be considered so," Illyria added with sarcasm. "Wolfram & Hart rebuilds its empire in Los Angeles."

"They're back," Gunn realized.

"Not that we're not overjoyed in seeing our Big Blue again, but what're ya here for exactly? You got yur comfy spot with the new council. Why come back?" Spike jumped to sit with a plop on the top of a nearby circle couch.

"I will return to reconnaissance soon. It is where I am most useful. Morphing the shape of this shell has the capacity to fool even the most intuitive of magick-wielders, but the lawyers prepare to deliver the final wave of their fight. It is their only remaining weakness on this plane, in this existence. It is the final 'loose end', as you call it, for your struggle."

"So we can wipe them out?" Happiness flitted across Connors eyes. "For good?"

"For now," she replied.


End file.
